Punk rock and all that kinda stuff. Notes on mainstream TV hell. Saturday night TV is flickering in the background with its avalanche of nothing, the boring bright lights of heavily edited emotional blips and desperation numbing the soul and crushing the spirit. Comfortably numb as someone once sung. Nothing making you feel anything. Like a blur of cathode ray heroin doping the soul.

An amalgamation of thoughts as they relate to journalism, pop culture, and the wandering life of yours truly. Wednesday, 6 November 2013. I must twist a little wry smile at this assumption when I think about how my French grandfather used to sa y, Ce sont les tonneaux vides qui font le plus de bruit.

It Who no longer can listen It Saw a gusty wind Come up to listen Before I was ten and all of the evil grids From a hill where rats consider And they gang And they topple And they send a smoke ring Into the onion field A ghost! And this can make you choke Coming from the throat Of a ghost! And sent to my weak knees From a voice plantation All in together In terror. Thursday, January 15, 2015. The Black Country Living Museum. What a fascinating place! Well, he.